


Benchmarks

by Amythe3lder



Series: Irregular Pieces [31]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Edging, Light BDSM, Multi, Mygolly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 06:44:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10380804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amythe3lder/pseuds/Amythe3lder
Summary: He didn't quite get how not having an orgasm was something to set aside time for, but he supposed he didn't need to understand.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [redscudery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/redscudery/gifts).



> Betaed by Redscudery, to whom I owe several hugs. All remaining mistakes are things I was too stubborn to change.
> 
> Climb on board  
> We'll go slow and high tempo  
> Light and dark  
> Hold me hard and mellow  
> "Pillowtalk"-Zayn

The tension in Molly’s body snapped like a bow string and she struggled and spit fire. “Damn it Mycroft,” she groaned into his neck, “I was almost there.” She ground her frustration between her back teeth as he moved the vibrator away.

“I could tell,” and of course he could, damn him, “What fun would it be if you weren't?” There was a strain to his voice and his usually clipped speech had rounded off at the corners. She felt a vicious satisfaction that she wasn't the only one suffering- but then that was rather the point. It didn’t stop her from grinding down a little, though.

She was straddling his lap as she had been the first time they’d made love, with a few key differences: they were naked, she had his soft mattress under her knees instead of a bench- how sweetly he'd kissed her bruises after!- and they weren't in a public greenhouse. What remained the same was that she was irretrievably gone on him and that she was in control, whatever evidence to the contrary.

He squirmed- he would have said _shifted_ \- and brought her attention back to where they were joined. She couldn't resist the urge to take him deeper into her, hips rolling forward. She was rewarded with an exhale that ended on a whimper before he gathered his control and quelled her with a stern look, insisting that she behave. _This was your idea, after all_.

That was fair. It had been.

*     *     *

There was something about Greg Lestrade that made people feel like they could open their mouths and say anything and he would keep listening. Greg had seen the worst people could do to one another and to themselves and remained doggedly loyal to humanity. Molly found it easy to tell him when a little torment in the right way was something she was very much interested in, so she did, frequently. She’d been unwilling to risk the subject in the beginning, but Mycroft had caught on and brought it up first.

On their way to lunch one afternoon, Molly had intimated to Greg that she’d be pleased to see how long she could stand to be kept teetering on the edge of orgasm and how much it affected the outcome. To his credit, he barely stumbled in the hospital hallway. “Really?” he’d asked, nose crinkled, and for a second she thought she had crossed the borders of his comfort. She wanted to undo and take back, but then he shook his head and smiled at her with eyes gone dark. “Okay, daisy. Details? Are you going to want to be tied up for this?”

“Um. No, thank you. No restrictions on movement, either.” She preferred, when her stillness was required, to be given the option to move. It seemed like a task to complete instead of a situation to accept. Besides, knots and buckles made her uneasy.

At least, when she was the one being bound. When it was Mycroft’s wrists in the padded cuffs behind his back, Mycroft’s ankles bound to corners of the bedframe or the legs of a chair, Mycroft blindfolded so all he could do was _listen…_ Molly didn’t mind that. When his voice went quiet and floated on the air and he smiled like he was safe, she didn’t mind that at all.

*     *     *

Mycroft must have heard when her heart stopped pounding. Molly certainly did, other noises weighing out the blood in her ears, the rush ebbing. She could hear him breathing carefully, like he was focusing on filling his lungs, but when she opened her eyes, he was focusing on her instead.

 _Good_ , she thought, and the thought sparked through her where satisfaction was otherwise absent.

He blinked, finally breaking eye contact. His hands followed his eyes, palms sliding across her shoulders, down her arms, twining their fingers together for a moment while he brought his mouth to hers. Their lips slotted together softly, and even the lightest of kisses shot heat to her core.

Mycroft let her hands go free so he could pull her closer. She loved the way he held her: like she was fragile, yes, but also like he was. He touched her like a man afraid of thunder runs into a storm to ask comfort of the rain. She knew exactly what he meant. She had worn her own path between those raindrops.

He deepened the kiss just long enough to make her gasp for more than air when he broke away, but then she reached up to draw him back for another and he didn’t try to hold off. The back of his neck was hot beneath to her touch, flushed with passion. To her frustration, he cut the second kiss even shorter, but didn’t give her a chance to complain. His forefinger tracing the curve of her breast along to the peak made her breath catch and her back arch. He gave the other side similar treatment, ending this time on a pinch, rolling her nipple firm and slow. Her awareness, already zoomed in on the two of them, further narrowed to lines of her body where they intersected with his.

Mycroft studied her, for all the world looking unaffected and cool until she met his eyes again. The intensity she saw there made her bones ache, made her flex her thighs to rise and fall on him. The hand that was still splayed across her lower back dropped down to cup her arse, to urge her higher- and higher she went.

Mycroft brought the pad of his thumb to his mouth to wet it and Molly’s mind promptly offered a map of circled places he might apply it, a few with stars. When he leaned back into the pillows a little, making room between them, she had to catch her smile between her teeth before it could turn anticipatory and feral. He curled his fingers into a fist at the crease where her leg met her hip and dipped his thumb forward to press gently against her clit. She saw dim lights flicker behind her eyelids. After the vibrator earlier, it wasn’t quite sharp enough to send her off right away, but it was a soothing sort of pleasure and she took it.

His other hand slid up her back to tangle in her hair and moved to stroke along her collarbone, never staying in once place long enough to form a pattern. His fingers slipping between her legs were all the consistency she needed. He brought his thumb back to his mouth a few times, ostensibly for rewetting. Once it occurred to her how utterly unnecessary that was, she realised that he was really just tasting her and she forgot to breathe for a while after that.

The steady pressure on her clit and the thick stretch of him inside her built up into a promise, a glimpse, a warm weight between her circling hips threatening to break like a cloudburst. It didn’t take as long as before; the distance they’d previously covered was quickly regained. She loosened her self control, trusting that Mycroft would stop her from going too far, that he wouldn’t be too distracted by his own needs and get dragged down under her tide. As it was he seemed to be holding himself in check even as he was thrusting up to meet her. She picked up speed, almost, very nearly-

He stopped them again, moved his hands to her sides to hold her in place while her body tried to argue. She started to say _please_ , then pursed her mouth, shuddering with disappointment but resolute, and stilled herself.

*     *     *

Mycroft knew what he was doing.

Once Molly calmed again, after the flames were banked but before the embers cooled, he brought his lips to her neck. He parsed through the input of soft, fine skin and hitched breath to find the pulse of her blood beneath the surface, darted his tongue out to taste it. (As much for his own pleasure as hers. More, if he was honest.)

He skimmed his fingertips up her sides and scraped his nails down and felt her shiver between his hands, clasp at his back, _pulse_ around his cock. He sucked and bit lightly against the thin silk of her throat to feel her do it again and _oh_ , he could- if that were-

He filed that away for revisiting at a later date. (Oh god, that held some promise. He wondered how long she could keep that up, and how long it would take.)

She was rocking against him now, gaining rhythm, rubbing sweat between their damp bellies. He had to grip her hips tightly to still her and she actually growled. Well.

“It’s seven fifty-three,” he said, quietly injecting a little dash of cold perspective into their feedback frenzy. Not quite two hours yet. Molly sagged. On another night, they would've been only beginning.

Carefully (because he cared, he did, and it felt like a total refutation of gravity and also like rocks in his stomach) he raised his hands to where her head was resting on his shoulder and lifted her hair back so he could stroke her face.

“Do you want to call it?” he asked, very softly, like he might cradle her with it.

“Mnft?”

“You can, you know. If you want. It's quite all right.” Mycroft brushed his lips over her temple, tasted salt and effort and want. Molly blinked up at him. He continued, “You’ve done so well for so very long. If you think you’ve reached your limit, we can stop. Or not stop, rather. You can have the undivided attention of whichever bits of me you like best, or you can have the toy wherever you feel it does the most good. Or both.”

Part of him (the part that begged for indulgence) wished she would crack. It was difficult enough, all of this. For the first hour it had been light caresses and slow disrobing, just gathering kindling for later, except later was a treat he was dangling blind. His instructions were to keep her near climax until Greg arrived, but he had no way of knowing how long that would be that wasn’t perilously close to guessing. It was hard, to be frank. In all manner of ways. Seeing (and feeling) her finally release might ease some of his own tension.

(Or make it more acute, but that was a calculated risk).

He hadn’t counted on being so affected. It was a mistake he kept making and failing to learn from. He’d truly meant to keep his own clothes mostly on, but the indefinite nature of _mostly_ had been a problem. By the time he’d thought to stop her nimble fingers, she’d already had him down to his pants and letting her continue had seemed the most reasonable course. He didn’t always make wise choices when Molly Hooper was kissing him, and never when she was on her knees. The critical moment when he could have chosen to retain his objectivity and his undergarments had involved both of these weaknesses, but the moments just after had been rather agreeable, in his defense. The next move depended on her answer, and he hoped she would give both options more consideration.

She opened her mouth and, true to form, said what he hadn’t expected. “What about you?”

“What… about me?”

She seemed to shake off a layer of fog. “I never said you had to wait, too. Did Greg?”

It would have been easier to lie. He could manage it with scarcely a nod, his silence would have been enough to let her think what she would and not have to explain any further. Putting words to this was exhausting.

However. “No, but-”

“Then can I-” she looked far too hopeful. It was agony to refuse, awful and sweet.

“He didn't say _not_ to.” There.

Molly looked through him. “And he’ll like it,” she whispered, understanding. They shared a conspiratorial smile, punctuated by a few conspiratorial kisses.

“What say you, Miss Hooper? I think you can take a little more, don't you? Gregory shouldn't be much longer.” Mycroft hoped their absent lover didn’t make a liar of him. He had sent a pressed tuberose (dangerous pleasures) to invite Molly, and he wanted badly to make good on the promise.

She echoed her earlier reply now. “Yes, Mycroft.”

*     *     *

Greg glowered at the car in front of him through the windscreen. He glanced in the driver’s mirror and snarled at the van behind him. He turned ninety degrees and fumed at the kerb keeping the cabbie from using the sidewalk to get around the traffic. The red brake lights up ahead went out and he perked up, “Yeah! It's about-” and then dropped back into a slump in the back seat when they came on again.

He was late. And today was special.

In the early days with Mycroft, everything had been done in darkened rooms with so much secrecy Greg wasn’t even sure if he himself was allowed to know. Then Molly had made her move and the trio had shared what Greg thought of as the Year of Being Sneaky. Now there were a few awkward questions to field, but as far as he was concerned all of that was worth it for how fantastic it was to go out with them and not have to hide. Mycroft smiled almost constantly on these occasions, and Molly seemed taller somehow. He got a kick out of thinking they might be happy because they were with him, and sought to make it true if it wasn’t. Having lunch with either of his partners was the highlight of his day when they could manage it.

So he had already been feeling fairly giddy last week when he’d gone to meet his sweetbun and she’d sprung her request on him. He didn't quite get how _not_ having an orgasm was something to set aside time for, but he supposed he didn't need to understand. It was his personal opinion that Molly spent an outrageous amount of time on foreplay as it was, so he wondered if this was an extension of that need she had to draw everything out. He felt that afterplay was much nicer, especially when it turned into foreplay again.

Greg hadn't really expected Molly to want to be bound for this scene, but he tried to be thorough in defining the boundaries beforehand. So when she’d refused that element, he had found it less than surprising.

She twisted her fingers together as they walked. “I expect I’ll get a bit fighty. But honestly, duration is up to you. So long as it ends on a satisfactory note?” Molly’s voice finished the sentence on an upward slant, turning it into a question, and following it with, “If that’s… okay?” She kept pausing to doubt herself, which he found frustrating and endearing in equal parts.

“‘Course it’s okay,” he’d said, thinking _how could I say no to anything you asked for?_ He picked that thought up and turned it over a few times, weighing the truth of it. Considering what it was Molly wanted, that might be a problem. He could not trust himself. The first time she asked to come, he would be only too happy to comply. He’d had a counter-offer ready though. This particular kind of casual sadism and control was Mycroft all over.

Mycroft had lit up when Greg had told him what Molly wanted. He’d been quick to assure Greg that he’d be able to handle this task, had called it “edging.”

“Where’d you get that?” Greg had asked, and Mycroft became suddenly interested in the bark on the tree Greg was propped up on. “Oh Christ, there’s a word for it?”

“I may have some experience to bring to the table.” Mycroft said, calmly staring past his shoulder.

Greg took in the tight expression and bet that there was embarrassment underneath. He made a joke, reflexively, like steadying a friend who had tripped on the rug. “I can’t say the same, but it seems to me the bed would be a better idea.” Mycroft flashed him a relieved smile and was back on his game. The discomforted look stuck with Greg for a while, and he resolved to catch Mycroft unawares and ask what he’d like to try next. In the meantime, Greg had waited a few days before sending him a text.

<Tonight. Try to wait until I get home to finish.>

He hadn't got a reply. He hadn't needed one.

_And now they're waiting. And I'm missing everything._

Greg gave the cabbie a generous tip and hit the sidewalk at a jog. It wasn't really that far.

*     *     *

Molly didn’t appear to be making any effort to restrain herself anymore, and Mycroft was in trouble.

Not terrible trouble; he felt fairly confident in his ability to keep sending Molly to the brink and then reeling her back. Likewise he had a solid grip on his own desire. However, managing both together was slowly getting the better of him, and he knew that before long he’d have to prioritise. He closed his eyes to limit his stimulus, but then his mind provided him with images and that was no help at all. He was too far gone, he needed a distraction, he needed-

At the sound of the front door and footsteps on the stairs, Molly met his gaze and they smiled at each other in excitement and relief. Soon.

Gregory tumbled through the bedroom doorway, toeing off his one remaining shoe and trying to unbutton his shirt. He pulled up short as he caught sight of them. He gave up on his buttons and reached down to unbuckle his belt. Mycroft had never known a man who could strip down with so much speed and so little grace. Being wanted by Greg came with the benefit of getting to watch him literally fall all over himself in avidity.

Gregory climbed up onto the high-rise bed and flopped down on his back to kick out of his trousers, pants, and socks all in one downward shove. Mycroft felt lips pressed to his shin a second before Greg pulled up even with them, still mostly in his shirt and vest. It was clear why he’d been struggling with them; the fabric was damp with sweat and his hands were shaking besides. Molly (hips still moving in small circles) reached over to flick open his shirt buttons like a master.

He laughed, “Don't mind me,” and dropped one hand to give his cock a quick stroke before rejoining the fight against his remaining clothes.

Mycroft peered down at Greg with interest.

“What if,” he said, “that's exactly what we want to do?”

*     *     *

Molly had a feeling that Greg’s arrival signalled the end of the game, and she had reason to trust her instincts. After all, she had correctly predicted that Greg would delegate this scene to Mycroft before she had laid it out.

More to the point, she’d hoped. Molly knew where their strengths were. Greg was excellent at hard and quick and fun, like driving too fast with the windows down. He made her forget herself in his own haste. Asking him to slow down this much and govern both of them was unfair, and it was not her intention to make him uneasy with his role.

Mycroft enjoyed things most when they weren’t easy. The idea of requesting this outright and directly had run counter to their normal patterns, and would put Mycroft wrongfooted. It wasn’t that she couldn’t talk to him, but if she suggested a change, he’d be worried she had tired of him by the end of the conversation. There were places in him too deep for her to repair, so it was best to avoid bruising his feelings. He had less experience with this sort of thing than she did. So, she believed, did Greg, but he was proof against injury and more likely to speak up if he felt slighted. The sensible thing was to trust Greg to communicate in such a way that didn’t leave their third afraid that he must be failing somewhere. He certainly wasn't. Mycroft was doing fine work, even better than she’d dreamed.

“How many times have you brought her close, _mo chroi_?”

Molly couldn't have answered, but Mycroft’s prompt “Seven,” sounded about right. It also sounded weary, and she gave his arm a gentle squeeze. She was moving idly, just treading water while he rubbed her legs. If they ever did this again, she’d remember to stretch a bit first.

“Show me,” Greg said, eyes alight, tugging slowly on his cock. She felt Mycroft nod, his stubble catching her hair. His hands slid from their resting place on her thighs to steady her hips, and she leaned back and put some purpose into her pace. Mycroft followed her to lean in for a kiss as Greg’s free hand found her breast, and any remaining discomfort burned away.

It could hardly have been a minute before she was on the edge again, with Mycroft not far behind, making desperate little noises. This time, it was Greg who stopped them.

“Wait,” he said, and Molly heard herself sob in frustration. Greg winced up at them. He let go of himself to use both hands to soothe them. “There, okay. Come back down a little, huh?” He rolled himself up into a kneeling position and straddled Mycroft’s legs behind her, “This all right?” he asked, and it was, it was perfect when he wrapped her in a hug and lifted some of her weight off her knees, it was lovely when she felt him press hot and hard against her back.

“Say when,” Greg said over her shoulder, and Mycroft breathed a grateful, “Yes.”

After a few beats, Mycroft spoke into the intimate space between them, “Now. When you’re ready.”

Greg lifted her up, urged her to put her feet flat on the mattress and Mycroft was suddenly impossibly deep, their strokes longer. “Come on honey,” Greg said, supporting her as he rubbed against her arse, “just one more time, almost there Moll, almost, come on, come for us,” a quiet slurred litany in her ear.

When it came, it wasn't particularly intense, even after all that fuss. It was a gentle wave lapping at her feet rather than the deluge over her head she had been expecting. Warm and sweet, but mild. She felt let down for a moment before she realised that it was getting stronger. That was the last coherent thought she had for a while that wasn’t whited out by pleasure and the urge to seek more of it. She was dimly aware that someone was making quite a lot of noise, and that it was her. Her orgasm rippled, rumbled, roared through her and took her under, devastating and fantastic. It could have lasted forever. Perhaps it did.

She came back to herself with tears smeared on her cheeks, aching abdominals, burning quadriceps, and her nails in Mycroft’s back- not too deep, blessedly- and she thought she might never recover. She was still sighing and shaking when they laid her down on the soft, cool sheets. She could hear concern in Mycroft’s voice and amusement in Greg’s, reassuring him that they hadn’t broken her. Molly could only smile, and she could barely remember how to do that. Once she caught her breath, she started giggling hoarsely, and felt Mycroft relax beside her.

Then Greg moved, Mycroft moaned, and Molly pried her eyes open. She hadn’t fully registered that they’d been closed.

Greg had scooted forward so he could wrap his hand around them both. Their eyes shut for only a moment as he stroked; they were unwilling to stop watching one another. She couldn't fault either of them. Greg started by keeping to a slower tempo than she'd seen him use before, and Mycroft responded beautifully, writhing and pulling him nearer and forgetting to look shy about it. It took an awful lot of work to make Mycroft drop his own reins, but she and Greg agreed that it was well worth the effort. She hadn’t considered that this evening would fray his control as much as hers, but it was becoming apparent that Greg had.

“You were so good, weren't you, darling?” he murmured. “Did just what I asked, what our Molly wanted.” he sped up gradually as he spoke, and wound his free arm around Mycroft. “Now wait just a minute more, yeah? Can you hold on until I say? God knows I won't take long.”

Molly knew when Greg’s grip found the tracks her nails had left by the sounds Mycroft made. Her vision was still a bit blurry in the soft light and haze, but her ears worked fine. Mycroft sought her hand, blindly, and she gave it. As sated as she was, she felt felt his frustration like a phantom tension in the small of her back, and was eager for her men’s release.

Finally, Greg said, “Turn loose, love,” and Mycroft wasted no time doing as he was told.

“Fuck,” he whispered, and no less reverentially, "Gregory.” His fingers tightened on hers and she gave him an answering squeeze. He set his teeth into Greg's trapezius and groaned as he came. Greg was there two strokes later, panting and cursing.

Molly breathed deeply at last.

They stretched out alongside her, passing kisses between them like the occasional cigarettes they shared.

It was a scant minute later that Greg’s mobile rang out “London Calling” and Greg’s expression went sheepish. “Sorry, I gotta,” he said, and he slid off the bed to look for the correct pocket and pick up the call.

“Yeah?... Oh. Oh sure, we- _I'll_ head over. No! No backup, it’s probably nothing. Thanks.”

“You have to go?” Molly asked, trying to keep her voice from advertising her disappointment.

“Yes, actually.” He climbed back under the duvet on her other side and snuggled in. “I have to go check on my boyfriend at our house. They say the neighbors heard noises, wondered if everyone was all right.”

“Let me assure you, inspector,” Mycroft mumbled, his face half-buried in a pillow, “we're doing really rather well here. Apologies for the disturbance.”

Molly smiled slowly. “I can't promise it won't happen again.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little further ahead in the _Home_ timeline than I've quite reached.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Almost There](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10737327) by [doctornerdington](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doctornerdington/pseuds/doctornerdington)




End file.
